


How To Seduce Satan: A Guide

by velvet_and_shortchanged



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Biblical AU Kind Of, Biblical References, Cliche, Dave sells his fucking soul for a date, Fluff, Karkat is Satan, M/M, Sexuality Crisis, basically a rom com, fluff with a side of angst and smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-31
Updated: 2019-04-23
Packaged: 2019-12-29 18:47:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18299936
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/velvet_and_shortchanged/pseuds/velvet_and_shortchanged
Summary: "I said, fine. Fucking fine. You get me. You get to have me for one week, and you can spend that time with me however you fucking want, as long as you don't actively try to overtake my power or pull a fucking fast one on me, dickhead."You thought it over for a moment. A whole week with this guy. Whatever you wanted. Of course, the first things that flashed through your head were a variety of cheesy sexual fantasies.But then again, did you really want that?Honestly, you really didn't want just one week."Fine."But-" His smile was put on hold. "- if you decide you like me, you have to stay with me."He seemed so fucking skeptical, but generally pleased with this arrangement. Yeah, getting the Devil himself to like you in a week might be a suicide mission, but you felt something here. For a man.You can totally make Satan fall ass over horns in a week.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Wrote this instead of rewatching Lucifer for the fifth time. Sorry not sorry!

**KARKAT VANTAS== > Hate Customer Service.**

Your name is **KARKAT VANTAS** , and boy oh fucking boy, do you hate your job.

You are the lowest of the low. The masseuse of the corporate suits. The peasant of the lords. The slutty maid in a low budget porno made on a 2009 camcorder. The whore of this whole enterprise. You are Karkat Vantas, and you run Hell's very own customer service line. Yeah, you're Satan. And you're stuck with the worst job in the entire fucking _universe_. 

You know this for a fact. Sisyphus (you have weekly sessions with him, you guys are close as can be for the animal and the owner of the whip) didn't even wanna trade with you. Yeah, the dude who pushes the boulder up the hill for all of eternity. This is the shittiest job ever. The philosophers are already all over your ass, Camus climbing up your fucking back every single week, babbling on about the absurd and how all of this is some sort of fever dream. Thomas Hobbes hasn't stopped talking about government since he got here back in the 18th century. The worst torture of all is probably the America's Got Talent failure suicides, though. Nightmare material- not literally, that's not your department, Kurloz handles all that.

Apparently, Dad decided that Kankri, _perfect_ , shining star _Kankri_ , got to be head seraph. Otherwise known as the Holiest Virgin of All. Mary hasn't got shit on him, she looks like the dirtiest prostitute in all of biblical history compared to his perfect, sparkly white slate (she kind of was a whore, though). But of course, you're shunted sideways, stuck with HR. The mortals appear one by one, showing up in front of you. You could sit, you have a throne and all. But it's nice to stretch your legs for a thousand years or so before sitting back down. It's good to take small breaks every once in a while, torturing souls gets very old, very fast. So you have a side job: listening to people's wishes. You're obviously not some sort of shitty genie, obviously, this isn't a goddamn Disney movie. But hey, they aren't really wishes, they're exchanges. _Deals_. Make a deal with the Devil, and he'll come to collect, requesting your services for whatever the fuck he wishes. You one time had a guy recreate a famous Grand Theft Auto heist during his niece's bat mitzvah in exchange for clearing up his bank debts.

It was all in good fun. You also got his soul, which was nice.

But enough ramblings. You have an appointment.

 A tall- wow, they aren't usually _this_ tall, but you're short for an angel, anyhow- blond dude, looking like he stepped off his surfboard for a few seconds of your time, has come to you. There's something oddly familiar about him, and you aren't entirely sure what it is. Hands in his jean pockets, awkwardly staring around. You clear your throat, and he immediately stands up straight, looking to you as you fiddle with your tie (it's uncomfortable, but the Devil _does_ in fact wear Prada).

"Okay, listen up, fucker. Just by looking at you, I can tell your brain is doing some crazy ass pretzel yoga trying to figure out who the fuck I am, so I'll spare your two braincells the time and energy. I'm Karkat, and I'm the Devil, blah blah fucking blah. Now what do you want." It's a variation of the welcoming speech you give to every mortal. They only spend a short time in hell, anyways, so it doesn't matter much. Sunglasses Man gives you what you assume to be a blank, dumbfounded stare. Not uncommon for a mortal's first heavenly/hellish encounter, but you look pretty normal right now. No fluffy fairy wings or devil horns- well, you have ram horns, but they aren't too freaky. Just a short-ish, grey suit wearing guy, with permanent dark circles and literally untamable hair. Yeah, don't even think about it. Your mom made one attempt, and then literally pushed you down into the bowels of hell for breaking her special edition God-Created hairbrush.

Man, your parents fucking _sucked_ sometimes.

"Okay, I've given you the allotted forty five seconds to gape and be confused, now _pull your shit together and tell me what you want_. It's probably something basè and basic as shit, right? Money? Fame? Girls? A bigger dick?" You listed impatiently, face shifting from your friendly resting frown to a straight up glare. What the _hell_ was this guy thinking about? You weren't a genie, this wasn't some tricky word business with enough strings attached to be a chintzy dreamcatcher found in a crystal shop (those alone might as well have been forged in Hell).

"Come on, you didn't do all this shit for nothing. I'm _Satan_. What do you want, more than anything ever?"

Sunglasses Man stared for another good second before opening his mouth, finally getting some fucking words out.

"I want _you_."

 

* * *

 

 

**DAVE STRIDER== > Embarrass yourself in front of a hot guy.**

Your name is **DAVE STRIDER** , and wow, you never thought you'd be gay for Satan, but here we are.

Hold on. Let's back up a bit, rewind the tape a little, here. Shit doesn't make jack sense until then.

Your name is Dave Strider, and you're a famous movie director that can have anything you want, ever.

Yeah, you got that right. You drive a red Corvette, and you used to live in one of those giant Beverly Hills McMansions before moving into a regular fucking townhouse, because, while you are certainly douchey in some ways, that's just unnecessary, man. You don't need so many rooms when it's just your tiny little family. Said tiny family consists of Rose Lalonde, Roxy Lalonde, yourself, and Dirk Strider. You're all pretty tight, considering both of your parents are (well, were) fucking criminally insane. But you're not talking about that, you'll talk about literally anything during interviews except for that. Don't think about him now, man, he's dead, he's dead, and you're okay.

 Nice recovery time there.

You are wildly famous for the ironic Sweet Bro and Hella Jeff movie series. They're hilarious, and you and your brother helped to adapt your comics into a triple threat, along with the help of your sisters working the media. You're a sick team. And again, you can have anything. You have the money and the connections, you could probably buy all of Australia or Greenland if you tried really, really hard.

And yet, life was so _unbearably_ boring, and...

Well, you didn't want to admit it, but you're standing in front of fuckin' Satan, so.. Yeah, you're lonely. You're fucking lonely, it's true, and your people skills aren't exactly primo because you spent the first 18 years of your life being tormented by your horrendous older brother- god, you _really_ need to stop letting your mind wander to him- but that's all over now. And you still suck at making friends. You practically pulled a Holden Caulfield and sobbed in front of a prostitute like some sort of wimpy Momma's boy in desperate need of Viagra or a simple explanation that the Oedipus complex isn't fucking real.

Anyways.

You wanted company, and your wonderfully creepy witch sister told you just the way to do that. She made it clear you didn't have much time down under, but that you'd be mildly crispy if you were a few minutes too late. So you're being careful about this shit. Apparently, the Devil gives out favors. Or exchanges them? Whatever, you didn't really think this was going to work in the first place so you might as well take advantage. After chugging down what tasted like sewer water with a hint of burning tires, you showed up in what you're assuming is Hell. It takes a minute for you to get past the shock that holy shit it worked and to realize that you're standing in front of a very attractive man.

You're much taller than him, you can see that a first glance, so it isn't entirely your fault you didn't spot the little guy (if he can read minds or some shit, you're actually so fucking screwed). But he's, well... He's cute. Not just cute, but like, sexy. Wearing a nice suit that was clearly tailored just for him, hugging every single place that it absolutely should. He looks like he hasn't slept in a year, and as a twenty three year old who's already had his big break, you haven't seen anything sexier. And he has hardened red eyes, not unlike your own, he can't see that, though.

He's _gorgeous_.

You scratch at your chin to make sure you aren't drooling, because you're pretty sure you are, and just now you realize this guy has been talking for a few minutes now, and you've been so zoned out staring at him that you aren't even listening. Nice job, genius. Real smooth, gaping openly at Satan like some sort of kinky sex freak (as though you're an innocent, vanilla angel). His words are finally starting to register, his last question ringing around in your head. What do you want? Not like, a soulmate or some shit. You don't really want him to appearify some rando and shove the two of your faces together like Malibu Beach Babe Barbie and Ken. That's not really what you're looking for. You look him in that fine, fine suit up and down again. Man, you haven't wanted to bang someone like this in a long time. You honestly just want to talk to him now. And unfortunately enough, that thought forces some entirely regrettable words out between your lips.

"I want you."

It was true, obviously. Who doesn't want the hot as all fuck Satan to smash them? You honest to god thought you were straight before all this bullshit began. But apparently, staring at hot guys changes shit around. And holy fucking shit, you've never seen someone so hot. He's just... It's clear he isn't human, no human is this ethereal. He wasn't even handsome, nah, he was just fucking _gorgeous_. You've never seen a _scowl_ look so sexy. He was about two feet away from you, and you can tell from here he's drop dead gorgeous.

"Uhm... Okay? That's not very fucking specific. Look, Ken Doll, I'm not gonna be your personal fucking servant for as long as you want, that's cheating the system that I set up, so fuck you. If you can't tell, my schedule is pretty full anyways, so you'd better have a second op-"

"Just fuckin' pause for a hot second there, dude."

You just called Satan "dude" And he does not look amused in the slightest. His gaze is filled with poison and annoyance. Whoops.

"Like... I want _you_. Not as a damn servant or some fucked up shit like that, although I guess you're about the last person to kink shame anyways- you're not a person though, you're like, an ethereal being right? So how does that factor in to this equation is the real question," You anxiously spit word vomit everywhere. You weren't exactly sure how to explain to Satan that you wanted to take him out on a date.

He openly gaped at you for a moment, jaw dropped open, before quickly snapping it shut and giving you the most exasperated and exhausted look you've ever seen, with just a hint of pure malice.

" _What. The. Fuck. Do. You. Want. From. Me._ Say it in less than ten words, for fuck's sake. There are literally less than ten rules when it comes to me and yet, you managed to break four of them in one go!"

You rubbed the back of your neck, wiping your palms on your black jeans (sweaty as fuck, yikes) and biting at your lip as you tried to string together some decent phrasing.

"Uhm-" 

He huffed impatiently, holding up one finger. 

"- I want to take you out..? On a date?"

All ten fingers went up, and he looked slightly relieved since you had complied, but his expression flashed over to confused and then horrified. You could see his fingers curl into the fibers of his dress pants.

One rattling breath later, he responded. "You... A _mortal_. Want to take _me_ out. On... On a fucking _date_." You nodded as firmly as you could.

"I- I mean, you're real cute 'n all? But not just cute, you're fuckin'... Fuckin' gorgeous? Prettiest boy I've ever seen, Icelandic model worthy, like those fuckboys in the Gap jean ads. And I fuckin' thought that I only liked girls but boy oh fucking boy was that the biggest scam of the century, Satan turned me gay and I want to kiss his fucking forehead and cherish him and also get bent over a fuckin' counter and fucked because I'm lonely as shit."

More word vomit. _Grrrrrreat_.

Satan gave you the most baffled look you've ever received in your life.

"Are. Are you actually fucking _serious_?" He almost spat it at you, as though he was mad? "You- you spent all this time and resources, dragged your mortal ass to see mex you're in Hell for fuck's sake, and all you want is to go out on a fucking _date_. With _me_. The Devil himself. What the fuck is _wrong_ with you?! I'm not here to aid your fucking sexuality crisis!"

"You _are_ my sexuality crisis. Just you. Nobody else."

He buried his fingers in his hair exasperatedly, raking it up frustratedly and leaving it with a bedhead look when he pulled his hands away. Damn, that was hot. You're just now taking into account how well that suit fits him. It's kind of snug, which normally you would have scoffed at and written off as slutty and pretentious, but really... It looks hot as fuck. You do your best to mentally undress him without seeming all too obvious, but clearly you fail, as his eyes narrow and his lips purse. "Stop fucking looking at me like that!"

"Like what?"

"Like I'm- Like I'm turning you on or some shit!"

"Stop being sexy, then."

Was he blushing?

It didn't matter, because seconds later, Satan (or Karkat, whatever) stomped over to you, looking like the hottest, angriest little fucker you've ever seen, and grabbed you by your collar, tugging you forwards. Up close, he was just fucking pretty. Cheekbones you could cut yourself on, lots of messy, black hair. His eyes were red like yours, and they were literally flaming, and he seemed to have a dusting of black freckles over his cheeks. His lips were probably the best part- vaguely red, formed into a half- snarl, and clearly perfect for a variety of deeds he would slap you for listing. Your faces were barely an inch apart, and getting to drink every bit of his features this close was just fucking awesome. His breath was cinnamony and probably deliciously spicy. 

Man, was he just trying to increase the sexual tension or something?

"Listen to me, you _little fucking shit_ ," He growled. You ignored most of his words, and instead watched every movement of his perfectly rounded lips as he spoke, how they clung to his teeth and pursed.  

"This _isn't_ fucking funny. You have approximately thirty seconds to apologize, _beg for your fucking life-"_ Fuck, that was hot. "-and ask for what you _actually_ want."

You sighed softly, momentarily tearing your gaze from those perfect lips of his to glance at your feet, before looking back up to meet his eyes again. You were wearing your shades, so there wasn't actual eye contact, but that just made things less awkward for you anyways.

"I already told you. What is so fucking hard to understand about it? I want _you_. When you threaten me, your nose scrunches up, and it's kind fucking adorable, I dunno-"

Oops. Wrong adjective. For future reference, it's probably not the best idea to go and patronize Satan or anything. His grip on your shirt tightened, and you gulped a bit. Hot.

"Don't you _fucking_ _dare_ call me adorable! I am _literally_ the king of hell! I made Hitler sob for his fucking mommy! I should be your worst nightmare, not someone you want to fuck!"

"Hate to break it to you, dude, but you're talking to the newest masochist in the fucking club. You're kind of intimidating, but your voice is all rough and sexy, which kind of distracts me from the whole 'I can kill you' deal, because instead I just start thinking about how fucking hot it would sound to hear your voice saying other things-"

You seem to have developed a word vomit problem in the past five minutes. Then again, you've never had the greatest track record for being a smooth motherfucker, especially when trying to flirt. Emphasis on trying.

Karkat was blushing- or at least you think he's blushing? His cheeks and the tips of his ears are coated in black, like someone smeared a stick of charcoal over his skin. The curved ram's horns casually placed above his ears seem to be glowing.

"Shut the fuck up! That's fucking- that's _not_ -" 

You managed to get Satan tongue tied.

He went silent, just huffing and pressing his fingers to his temples. Clearly, you were giving him some sort of godly migraine, which you're now going to list under "special skills" on your resume. Excellent blowjob skills, shitty memory, adept giver of headaches, etcetera.

"You know what? Fine."

The fingers clutching at your shirt disappeared, letting you fall back a few inches and stumble to regain your balance. You were forced out of your stupid daze, glancing up to meet his eye line once more. Man, he would look so fucking good with smokey eyeliner. His eyelashes were so long and dark already, he definitely didn't need mascara, but ridiculous, smudged silvery eyeliner? You'd probably fucking die.

"Wait, what?" You got too caught up in your Junior Queer Eye planning phase to pay attention to what he actually said. 

"I said, _fine_. Fucking fine. You get _me_. You get to have me for one week, and you can spend that time with me however you fucking want, as long as you don't actively try to overtake my power or pull a fucking fast one on me, dickhead."

You thought it over for a moment. A whole week with this guy. Whatever you wanted. Of course, the first things that flashed through your head were a variety of cheesy sexual fantasies. Karkat in lingerie. Your hand, in Karkat's hair, him on his knees. It was all hot, probably amazing, considering he's literally a fucking angel, and totally an option. He probably wouldn't even protest. Hell, he had to be bored after all this time, anyways. 

But then again, did you really want that? Yeah, obviously, but what about just him doing demo listens of your new tracks? What about ordering shitty Thai takeout from the cheap place around the corner, and him making fun of you for accidentally saying "I love you, bye" to the person over the phone out of habit? Sure, that was a lot for one week, but you really didn't want just one week.

"Fine."

You could see the corners of his lips turn up, and while you absolutely wanted to get a full fucking viewing of that sexy, sexy smile, you had shit to say.

"But-" His smile was put on hold. "- if you decide you like me, you have to stay with me."

He seemed so fucking skeptical, but generally pleased with this arrangement. Yeah, getting the Devil himself to like you in a week might be a suicide mission, but you felt something here. And anyways, you're bored as shit. What else are you going to do with your life now?

Besides.

You can _totally_ make Satan fall ass over horns in a week.

He stuck out his right hand, fingers smoldering and smoking slightly as a dead sexy smirk spread over his face.

"Do we have a deal?"

You stared at his hand a moment. Did you really want to do this?

You stuck your hand out to meet his, wrapping your fingers around his hand and giving it a good shake. It felt as though there was hot magma shooting up into your veins, like there was an electric bond connecting bthe two of you now.

" _Deal_."

 

 


	2. The Lord Of Darkness Likes Alcohol

* * *

**DAVE STRIDER == > Smash your laptop.**

Your name is **DAVE STRIDER** , and you are definitely _not_ going to do that.

Seven hours, four Incognito tabs, and half a Red Bull later, you haven't got jack shit.

 _Nothing_. The internet has detailed explanations of how to skin a human being, but no one has anything on what Satan's favorite food is. All you want to know is a little about the real Devil. All the things you've read are creepy as hell and clearly just chintzy, cult bullshit, made for a profit. Nothing about what kind of flowers the Devil likes, or if he had a fucking peanut allergy or some shit.

Man, imagine being immortal and not being able to eat Reese's peanut butter cups.

You even tried his other name- Karkat. Nothing. Literally _nothing_ came up. Not one result. How can there be nothing, not a _single_ fucking person with the same name? It was absurd. You tried other spellings. Kerket. Korkat. Carkat. Carcat. Every single fucking variation of those sounds, and yet still, absolutely nothing. Not even a creepy cult page. At this point, you were begging for a creepy cult page. You're considering hiring a private investigator to look into this. You have the money, what fucking else are you going to do with it?

The closest thing you have to proof of this bullshit not being a fever dream is a black tattoo written in two point font going down your shoulder and crawling up your wrist on your left side. It's kinda sick looking, but almost unreadable by you. After staring at it intensely right after you woke up, you were able to make out the last sentence: "Satan and all his loyalties."

Useless biblical shit that doesn't give any info on Satan's stance on veganism.

You've been here, ass plastered to your expensive as shit desk chair, staring a hole into your laptop, poring over another bullshit site, when you hear a quiet knock on your door. Too soft to be John, too neat and careful to be Roxy (not like she ever knocked, anyways). And Dirk has been off in Kilimanjaro with Jake for a week and a half, now.

Which only leaves one very nosy witch.

They all tended to check on you after not having seen you for a while. It was nice, but sometimes a guy's just gotta live the isolation lifestyle. However, Rose was not having it.

"Dave, you've been holed up on your laptop for hours. What can you _possibly_ be researching that is of such great importance?"

You just groaned, hands buried in your hair, tugging at it slightly. There was nothing. You can't believe you got yourself involved in this. It was absolutely insane. And you just didn't know what to do- besides, it wasn't like you could ask Rose for advice about this. Although, she had been the one to get you into all this shit, you didn't think she could possibly understand your current situation. Hell, you didn't even really understand it. It didn't make jack sense if you thought about it for more than ten seconds.

"This couldn't _possibly_ bear any relevance to your encounter with the occult, could it?"

Your head shot up, flicking to look at Rose as she stood leaning ominously in your doorway. One eyebrow was cleverly cocked up onto her forehead, and her hardened purple eyes were practically staring into your fucking soul. She had a way with that gaze of hers that made her seem extra persuasive. But you can just lie. You're good at lying.

"Fuck no! I'm not into that shit, I'm not some top tier kinky bitch who's hiding ropes and gags under the bed, I didn't even seeing anything. Nothing happened."

" _Dave_." You suck ass at lying.

You groaned again, smacking your head against the desk.

"Dave! For fuck's sake, just _tell_ me what happened!"

"I asked him out."

Rose was silent. You slowly lifted your head from the desk, now throbbing slightly from the forehead-to-desk contact, and you had never seen your prim and proper sister so bewildered. You'd probably have a bruise on your head, which isn't ideal, considering you're supposed to be going out with a guy who has, quite literally, seen everything, in just a couple of hours.

"You- you _asked him out_?"

"I asked Satan out on a date, and he said yes."

Rose pressed her forefingers to her temple, in a gesture you've lovingly named "Everyone around me is a fucking moron".

She isn't wrong, really. She definitely got it from your mom.

"Dave. He's a million year old being. What the _hell_ were you thinking? What are you going to _do_?!"

Rose sounded slightly panicked now. Clearly, she was worried about your well being, but you had also used one of her hand drawn sigils, and her Grimoire. She probably didn't want to be associated with the guy who wants to get down and dirty with Satan.

"Rosey-posey, chill, it's gonna be fine. I'm gonna comb my hair and put on a tie and take him out to dinner. Or maybe just do it here, I guess. Like. A _date_ , yknow."

She let out an exasperated sigh, pressing her fingers to her forehead again- this time with both hands, rubbing in circles. You often gave her migraines. She took meds for them, as the weather was the most common offender, but that didn't mean you were a exception to the rule.

"Okay, Dave. Figure this out. It's _your_ deal, now."

And with that, she was gone.

_Fuck, you were actually so screwed._

* * *

**DAVE= >> Get ready. **

"So, is he gonna pop up smack dab in the middle of the room, all like, 'Davey I'm here to smooch ya' and you'll swoon and ride off into the firey sunset or sumthin?"

You nearly went into a coughing fit as Roxy tugged the knot on your tie again.

Rose didn't want to be involved anymore, but you received a squeal and a lung-compacting hug from Roxy when you requested magical dating advice. Frankly, she had the exact same reaction when you informed her very quietly you had a crush on a boy in the seventh grade. Sometimes, it seemed as though her life goal was to hook you up. But hell, you certainly weren't going to complain. Roxy was adored equally by guys and girls. She clearly knew a thing or two. It was interesting how she believed you right off the bat, but you'd heard her on the phone with what sounded like a girl, but wasn't entirely human. 

Maybe this whole fucking family was destined for magical spouses. Bunch of xeno freaks.

"I dunno. After we said deal, I was sent back here with the contract on my arm, like a fleshy receipt." You shrugged, tugging the tie loose. Roxy immediately pounced on it, tightening it once more. "I think I can like, pray to him or some shit."

Roxy giggled. "Oh-em-ef- _gee_ , Davey. You gotta pray to get a hold of your date? So can you like, sext him through prayer? Is that gunna be your new kinky _thang_?" She dragged out the twangy g at the end. Roxy probably had the most ridiculous accent out of all of you, with Dirk coming next, then you, then Rose. 

You rolled your eyes. "Fuck no, Rox. Although I'm saving that fucking idea."

She waggled her eyebrows before patting your cheek contently. "You look real fine, Davey. Ready to rock n roll, all that shit..." Your sister nodded in approval, abandoning all hope on that tie of yours and just letting it chill like a homie. It was kind of a lost cause to make you look nice, but you definitely appreciated her trying.

Now.

Showtime.

* * *

  **DAVE== > Fucking _do_ this thing.**

"Hey."

The faint smell of burnt wood and sulfur reached your nose, and you turned around. You had been standing in the dining room of the Strider-Lalonde house for a couple of minutes, two wine glasses in hand as you waited for your date to arrive. The black contract spiraling down your arm burned impatiently after you "called" him, but the sensation had almost entirely faded once he arrived.

God, he looked _so_ gorgeous in this lighting. His cheekbones were absurdly shadowed, eyes brighter red than ever. It almost made you feel better about your own. You'd been self conscious about the red since you were a little kid, and seeing someone who looked so hot with the same fiery hue just helped that little extra bit. Yet it also made you slightly more self conscious. Because how could someone look _that hot_ with red eyes? You certainly fucking don't.

He was wearing the same pressed grey suit from yesterday, but yesterday probably seemed like a minute ago to him anyways. But there was small little things you could easily recognize as different. His hair didn't appear permanently mussed, almost as through he had done his best to force it down, and it was tucked neatly around the horns curling over in front of his ears. Wait, _was_ he wearing guyliner? Yes, yes he fucking was. Smoky and smudged all under his eyes, looking like a scene icon of 2007. Those were the days. But he didn't look stupid and tacky, just... hot. Sexy. Holy shit, he was going to be the death of you.

"Uh, hey," You replied ever-so-smoothly, your voice suddenly dropping about four octaves. Maybe he wouldn't notice- you clear your throat, hopefully alleviating the weird voice drop. Nope, he noticed. One thick, dark eyebrow rose on his forehead. You could feel your cheeks burn a bit, but you swore you could see the smallest of a twitch in his lips.

Progress.

Awkwardly shuffling out of the doorway, you headed into the softly lit dining room, breathing in the smell of dinner and the wine. Oh yeah, wine.

"Uh. C'mere. I got wine." The Devil cleared liked his alcohol- the second you popped the cork out of the one nicer Merlots you could find in the cabinet, his demeanor looked almost relaxed. It had been hard to find wine at all, since the majority of it had been trashed after Rose and Roxy both finally won the never ending game of whack a mole with their alcoholic tendencies. You set the glasses down, even pulled out his chair for him to which he nearly flinched, but didn't give any facial expression. This guy was harder to crack than you were. At least when you first spoke, he was shouty and out there.

Two glasses later, there's a buzz in your head, and he seems entirely unaffected. Fortunately, Roxy does nothing more than lurk around the corners, mostly out of sight, and Rose had disappeared hours ago with a handful of green chalk and tea bags. Something about "mother of god". So the house remained mostly empty as you two chatted- meaning, you rambled about your life, asked Karkat the occasional question, and received a stony, passive aggressive one word answer. He was grumpy, cold, and generally an ass.

Yes, this is the man you've chosen.

"So, _Karrrrrkat_..." You're halfway through that third glass, and you roll the R of his name dramatically, leaning back in your chair and picking at the wood. He almost looked amused.

"What." Or not.

"The name. 'S a real fancy name. Google didn't tell me shit.. Unique name, haha." Hiccup. 

"You _Googled_ me?!"

A slightly tipsy laugh passed between your lips, and you flipped your bangs out of your eyes, holding up your wine glass in the light. That probably seemed douchey and pretentious, but you really didn't give a shit about that right now. "Yeah. How else was I s'posed to find out whatcha like? Wanna please you, all tha' shit."

He just looked at you, and with the buzz rattling around in your head, you couldn't tell if he was looking at you in disbelief or mild question. Either would be fine. He didn't seem pissed. Just unsure was all.

"What?" You chuckled, tugging at the tie around your neck for the hundredth time that evening. Too tight. Maybe you should just take it off entirely. 

" _Nothing_ ," Karkat immediately snapped. "Just- never had so much focus on me. Used to the fucking muffin baskets being sent to the rest of my brothers." Brothers? Satan had brothers? You're too drunk to remember mythology now. Or religion. Or both? Whatever. 

"Y're special, 'kat. Wanna make sure you know that." You were spitting word vomit compliments everywhere now. Was Satan blushing? Was that red you saw on his cheeks? Had you finally managed to get something out of him?

Probably not. But a guy can hope.

"Hey." You held up your mostly empty wine glass with a grape flavoured hiccup. Delicious. "Toast. To us, y'know."

Karkat seemed skeptical. Like he really didn't want anything else to do with this, but he felt obligated nonetheless. But slowly, surely, he raised his mostly full glass. Letting it gently clink with your before taking a sip.

"To us."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya know it's Ronnie when she disppears for 20 days with no explanation.
> 
> sorry loves, im not really on a schedule and thisll probably happen sometimes :( but unprecedented unprofessional encounter is coming next, and then Copacabana, and then something new ;)
> 
> 7.4.19: EDITED. explained and edited some random ass inconsistencies! and i completely redid the next chapter. because it was a fucking disaster, esp compared to the first chapter which i actually liked. there will probably be two chapters released at once next.


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